


Nothing Can Keep Me From Loving You

by thursdaysfallenangel



Series: The Real Life Adventures of Misha and Jensen [15]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, There's gross cuddling in here, You are not alone, and exploitation of Misha's kink with his real name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaysfallenangel/pseuds/thursdaysfallenangel
Summary: Jensen realizes he wants to make his own contribution to fandom, but starting your own campaign takes a surprising amount of work. All this while having to deal with whatever mind game Misha is playing with him and his own damn bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeey so I promised 2 more of these in what? April? So obviously this has been planned for a long time, with still one more to go (and one additional one that I've planned since then because these fuckers keep going out in public together). But hey, it got written! There's gotta be points for that.
> 
> Anyway this is for Meg, who is determined to believe conversations about YANA were regular pillow talks (I mean, I believe it).

Misha’s trailer sucks.

Jensen glances at the TV mounted on the wall of the trailer across from him, maybe only three, four feet away from the couch where he sits. It’s a cramped area.

Misha’s trailer really, really sucks.

Listen, Jensen knows he’s a bit spoiled. Eleven years on the same show, you’re going to start getting some perks thrown at you. Around season five he and Jared had been upgraded to trailers that were less like RVs and a little more like luxury homes on wheels. Jensen’s come to tolerate the damn thing, if not outright appreciate it for the comfort and privacy it gives him on set.

Misha, on the other hand, didn’t even have a trailer he could really call his own when he started out, but when it became clear they weren’t getting rid of him any time soon, he’d been giving one of those simple jobs. Small but functional.

It was clear to Jensen why Misha preferred to spend most of his free time in his or Jared’s trailer, or, if they were shooting, roaming around the set and poking at the fans that occasionally showed up to watch at the outskirts of the set area.

That wasn’t what had happened tonight though. It was almost one am, and Misha, having just spent a good four hours shooting a scene that required him to be repeatedly thrown into a chain link fence, was exhausted. Jensen had practically had to get a shoulder under his arm to get him back here, and had managed to somehow get him into the trailer and dumped onto his bed.

His tiny, boxed in by both sides of the trailer bed. Misha’s tall frame is pushed against the wall, the god damn trench coat bunched around his hips as he snuffles face first into the mattress.

It looks uncomfortable.

It also looks friggen adorable, but that’s not really something Jensen is going to acknowledge at friggen one in the morning.

He doesn’t really examine why he’s still here in Misha’s trailer, either, curled up into his small chair with the TV on low instead of letting Misha sleep and heading back to his own trailer for however much longer is left in the break they managed to cajole out of the director. He doesn’t really want to think about how small Misha’s bed is, or how much it must suck to be shoved up against the wall like that, or the pang of protective fervor he feels building in his chest.

Nope, he doesn’t think about any of that.

“You know,” he says out loud, before he can stop himself. “Y’can use my bed if you want. Even if I’m not there. It’s bigger.”

He knows Misha heard him too, even if for all intents and purposes the man still looks dead asleep. Misha has this weird fucking ability of being aware of everything that’s going on around him, even when his mind should be somewhere else.

To be honest, Jensen can’t really believe it’s something he’s offered, either. His trailer is the one place on set where he’s guaranteed a place nobody will bother him. Well, except Jared, but Jensen never actually gave Jared permission to barge into his trailer like he does regularly.

This isn’t really something he wants to examine either, and luckily he finds an excuse to leave only a few minutes later when Jared starts making loud noises just outside the door about finding some food. God knows if he ends up coming inside, it’ll only end with him dragging Misha out of the bed and the possibility of both of them wrestling hard enough to flip the trailer.

Jensen will never, ever admit to anyone that that scenario has already played out. To this day Jared’s trailer being found laying on its side mid-season ten remains a mystery.

So he’s distracted by herding Jared away from a sleeping Misha, and he doesn’t really think about the offer he made again. He doesn’t have to, since Misha doesn’t seem interested in taking him up on it in the week or so afterwards.

Actually, Jensen’s beginning to wonder if maybe Misha didn’t hear him. It’s a better thought than the alternative.

He’s just managed to stop himself from jumping every time he hears a noise at his trailer door, hoping it’s Misha (shut up) only to walk in one afternoon, covered in fake blood, to find the bastard sprawled out on the bed.

Jensen stares at him for a good long minute before going to take shower.

After that it becomes a regular thing. Misha, it seems, is perfectly fine showing up at the trailer when Jensen’s not around, but somehow manages to avoid getting anywhere near it if Jensen is already inside. When Jensen finally caves and asks him what the fuck he’s doing, Misha just smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Can’t enter the temple until I find the right bag of sand, Jen.”

Jensen should not be turned on by Misha’s cryptic, Indiana Jones references. He really, really shouldn’t be.

At the very least Misha doesn’t leave if Jensen does happen to show up, at least not usually, and Jensen’s learned that if he drags Jared inside with him, the chance of Misha leaving lowers exponentially. And maybe it’s because then Jared and Misha talk to one another, and maybe that should annoy him, but somehow it doesn’t, because Misha is here, in his space, taking up his bed like he owns the goddamned place, and that’s fine for now.

‘Course, this also usually means Jensen’s not totally involved in the conversation.

“…Jen?”

“What?” Jensen rips his gaze away and tries very hard to look like he was not just staring at the way Misha’s fingers curled around the edge of the mattress, raising an eyebrow at Jared. “Sorry, what?”

“Always Keep Fighting,” Jared says, like this explains everything, and it probably would, if Jensen was a good friend who listened instead of imagining strong fingers gripping his thighs. Or something.

Misha, as always, knows exactly what’s going on, and allows Jensen to suffer in silence for a short moment while he smirks before offering, “Jared was expressing concern over some of our fans and the hardships they encounter.”

Jensen frowns, because this is something he does know about. He’s gotten a lot of letters, seen a lot of Facebook posts, and run into a lot of stories at conventions to know that people were suffering, and somehow he was helping them. He always walked away feeling like he wasn’t doing anything to help though, especially compared to the spaces Jared and Misha had carved out for themselves with their campaigns.

“That’s why Jay started Always Keep Fighting.”

He’s disgustingly proud of Jared for that too, not that he’ll ever admit it.

“Definitely,” Jared says easily. Somehow he’s gotten his hand on a football that must have been shoved into one of the couches. Jensen eyes it warily. “It’s too bad though, because it sounds like the show and being a part of it is what helps a lot of our fans, and that’s not something you can really replicate to anyone you might be asking for help from outside the SPN family.”

“Nine out of ten experts agree incestual support is the best support,” Misha declares sagely about ten seconds before Jared launches the football at his face, and then all hell breaks loose.

It’s not something Jensen really stops thinking about though, especially the whole family thing. He’s always saying this fandom is a family, right? And it’s a happy family, a helpful one. People in it understand one another, and they understand why Supernatural makes them happy.

Jensen doesn’t see why this hasn’t been utilized.

He looks for Misha all over set before heading back to his trailer, only to find him there, face shoved into Jensen’s favorite pillow. Deciding he’s had enough with whatever fucking game Misha’s playing, Jensen climbs up onto the bed next to him, ignoring the sudden tense set of his shoulders other than to note that it means Misha is awake.

“Mish,” he says, not quiet at all as he pokes his side. Hard. “Mish.”

Misha refuses to lift his head, so Jensen leans closer. “Hey,” he breathes into his ear. “ _Dmitri._ ”

Misha immediately turns his head to glare at Jensen through slitted eyes. “That’s not fair,” he says, voice raspy.

Jensen tries not to grin too much, but he’s not sure he manages. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“One day I’ll get used to it,” Misha grumbles, sitting up and hauling the pillow onto his lap. “And then I’ll never have to pay attention to you again.”

“So I guess that day will come after I lose my boyish good looks.”

Misha runs a hand over his face and Jensen swears he does it to hide a smile. “What do you want, Jen? I have to be back on set in ten minutes.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Jensen starts, and determinedly plows through Misha’s comment of, “that’s new.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you and Jared said, about fans not having a space within fandom to get the help they need, and I thought…” here Jensen shrugs helplessly, because this isn’t his thing, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware that he’s speaking to Misha, a man who has traveled all over the world helping people and who has built a charity from the ground up. He bites his lip before finishing lamely, “well, why not?”

Misha squints at him, and it’s so reminiscent of Castiel that Jensen almost expects him to be closer. But they’re already close, knees knocking on the bed as Misha shifts, and he’s Jensen, not Dean. He’s allowed to touch. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t sound disinterested. He actually sounds a bit intrigued, but Jensen still falters. “They have uh,” he waves his hand. “I mean I know they have those places. Where you can call if you’re, you know, down.” He shrugs helplessly. “Are they that hard to set up? I mean we could make one, right? Except the people you call could be, y’know, people in the family. Other fans.”

“You want to start your own call center,” Misha says slowly. “You’d have to recruit fans, and train them on how to properly handle that sort of thing, and promote the campaign so everyone knows it’s available. Not to mention the funding you’ll need.” He raises an eyebrow. “You realize you’d have to take this thing from infancy, right? It’s not easy.”

Jensen purses his lips, stubborn now that Misha has suggested this whole thing might not be possible after all. He’d never been very good at admitting impossibilities. “Good thing I came to you then, isn’t it?” he shoots back. “Come on Mish, you’re the best person I know for this kind of crap.”

Misha actually looks touched, and for a second Jensen’s afraid he’s broken him before he’s checking his watch and climbing off the bed. “Come up with an outline of what you want to do,” he tells Jensen before tossing the pillow at him and leaving the trailer.

Jensen assumes that means he’s in.

Coming up with an outline is easy. Hell, coming up with a T-shirt design was easy. Jared had laughed at the damn thing at first, something about their faces coming to a pair of breasts near you, until Jensen pointed out that if they were, at least it was their whole faces and not just half of one.

“You said you liked that design!” Jared protested before storming off somewhere to sulk.

Jensen had liked that design, but he likes this one too. He’s not used to seeing his and Misha’s faces together, not on shirts and not without Jared’s there too.

Turns out the hardest part is picking out a damn name. Jensen has no idea what to call a crisis hotline, at least no ideas that aren’t boring or upsetting. Since they’d started planning this campaign, Misha’s visits to his trailer and to his bed have become daily, but he’s not much help either.

“How the fuck can you dream up new hybrid animal characters every year, but you can’t name another charity?” Jensen asks him one night.

Misha shrugs and grins at him. “Super-chat-ural?”

“Get out of my trailer.”

Jensen doesn’t try climbing onto the bed again. Misha doesn’t say anything about it. Their knees still knock if Jensen drags his armchair close enough, so he supposes that’s enough.

They’re in talks with IAmAlive, serious talks with still no name to offer the campaign. Jensen’s getting frustrated, ready to just call the damn thing “Supernatural Support Chat” and be done with it all. It shouldn’t be bugging him as much as it is, but this is his thing, his accomplishment and contribution to this fandom, and he can’t even give it a fucking nice name. A hopeful one.

It’s beginning to weigh on him too, so much so that as soon as he drops Dean he’s back to brooding, muttering and stomping around set before he gets tired of terrorizing the crew and heads back to the trailer.

Misha seems to realize his mood, except instead of doing what Jensen wants him to do, he seems to decide to leave him alone. It’s the first time in months Misha doesn’t show up to take a nap in his bed.

It only serves to frustrate Jensen more, but whatever. At least it means he can use the bed now, and maybe a quick nap will help him escape the bullshit that is the block in his brain. So he strips off Dean’s overshirt, yanks off his watch, and falls on top of the sheets.

He’s barely managed to drift into some sort of semi-sleep state when he hears his trailer door opening. “Mish,” he says, because if it were Jared all he’d have heard is the loud bang of the door being slammed into the wall of his kitchenette.

“Shh,” is his response, and Jensen frowns in confusion, opening his eyes and turning his head only to stiffen in surprise as Misha, sans trench coat and suit jacket with his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, climbs onto the bed.

“Mish? What are you—“

Misha covers Jensen’s mouth with his hand, and then, after a short deliberation, nudges him onto his side before curling around him and dropping the hand on his mouth to his stomach.

Jensen stares dumbfounded at the wall for a moment, feeling the beat of Misha’s heart against his back and the warm heavy weight of his arm draped over his side. He stares long enough to realize this is the calmest he’s been in a while, and the most comfortable and that this…this is exactly what he needed. Not that he’d ever admit that.

“I thought you were never gonna let me sleep in the godammned bed at the same time as you,” he finally settles for grumbling.

He feels the curve of Misha’s smile against his neck before he says softly, into his ear, “it was fun anticipating though, wasn’t it?”

Jensen almost takes a swing at him, because Misha’s a fucking tease and he should be used to this by now. But he really doesn’t want to dislodge his position. “Fucking bastard,” he settles for saying.

Misha laughs at that, outright, before breathing into his ear, “well, at least now you’re not alone.”

It’s not an instantaneous click. It’s gradual, weaving through Jensen’s brain and forcing him to shoot upright only a few minutes later, only to stare wonderingly down at Misha.

“What?” Misha asks, clearly grumpy at having lost his hold around Jensen.

“You’re a genius,” Jensen tells him.

“About time you admitted it,” Misha says instantly, but Jensen can tell he’s dying to know what happened, and it’s only knowing that it’s killing Misha that he manages to keep his mouth shut.

Misha lasts until he’s dragged Jensen down and has him situated where he wants him again. “Alright,” he sighs. “What did I do?”

The You Are Not Alone campaign is launched two months later. Misha says he’s proud of him. Jensen tells him to get the fuck out of his bed, but Misha just clings obnoxiously tighter.


End file.
